


Savannah Blues

by annangst



Series: Thirty Six Questions [2]
Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bram's pov, Companion Piece, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:29:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annangst/pseuds/annangst
Summary: basically simon broke bram's heart and he needs some time to figure shit out(read "36 Questions Later" first or this won't make sense)





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! If you clicked on this then you have probably read the first part of this series "36 Questions Later". If not, I'm sorry, this won't make any sense for you. But you're very welcome to come back here once you have read the first part!
> 
> So this is going to be Bram's perspective after everything went downhill and Simon thought Blue was Cal. Happy angst, enjoy! :D
> 
> (also credits to Marina for the title ❤️)

_I don’t know what I’m doing._ Actually, I do: I’m on the train home — and by home, I don't mean my apartment in Manhattan, I mean Savannah — watching the world move outside, while I’m sitting still. What I meant is:  _I don’t know how I feel._

Simon’s email crushed me. I felt hurt, I felt numb, I wanted to cry, to run. Which is exactly what I'm doing right now — running. Away from it all. I still want to shout in his face — _how the fuck did he not realize it was me?_ — seriously, I even want to punch him. But I also just want to curl up in a ball and slowly drown in self-pity.

But you can't really do that when you're in a compartment with seven other people.

All I want is to go home. I need to go home. The world feels cold and dark and awful ever since I received Simon's last email, and I need to feel safe. And there’s no place safer than home.

Also, I need to be as far from him as I can. I don’t think I can even stand being in the same city, not to mention share a class with him. Which is why I haven't gone to _any_ class all week. I spent my days mostly by watching Cal, the lovey-dovey mess he is these days, freaking out over his upcoming date.

I know I should have told him. And I should have replied to Simon's email by now, telling him that he guessed wrong. But I just can't get myself to do it.

Cal knows about the Thirty-Six Questions Experiment. I told him as soon as Abby made me sign up for it. He thought it was a good idea — especially for someone like me who has basically no game at all. And because we're best friends, I also told him when I felt myself really falling for the guy from the emails. I never told him that it was Simon, though. And now, again, because we are best friends, I don't have the heart to break the news to him. He really likes Simon. He told me after we went to see the Marvel movies in his parents' cinema.

The thing is — I like him too, a whole fucking lot.

So now I need to think; I need to decide what I'm going to do with all this. I need to understand how I feel in the first place because the truth is, I just don't know. Everything is a mess.

I sit squeezed in-between a rather large woman and the window, my backpack on my lap, my phone in hands. I already have a playlist cued up. It's all The Maine and Lorde and The Smiths. But there's one thing I have left to do before I can let myself fall fully into the melancholy.

I open up Gmail and tap the reply button to Simon's email. It's already past six, he must be on his way to the date with Cal. _Okay, I know this is kind of cruel, breaking the truth to him when he's literally on the way to a date. But I kind of hope I fuck it up for them this way. He wouldn't do anything with Cal if he knew Cal wasn't Blue, right?_

 

> FROM: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> TO: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: October 3 at 6:28 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: You
> 
> Simon,
> 
> I'm sorry. I'm not who you think I am. I think we should stop this.
> 
> Blue

 

I let my finger hover over the send button for a solid minute, but then I press down on it. _I think we should stop this_. I mentally nod to myself and tap my way into the 36 app. It's Simon's turn to ask the next question, so my screen is blank except for the small red cross in the top right corner. Without thinking too much, because I already know it's the right thing to do, I press down on it.

Are you sure you want to quit the experiment?

I click Yes. A small survey pops up and I'm asked for my reason to end the experiment early. I don't bother answering.

 

***

 

"Bram?" Mom's eyes grow huge. "What are you doing here?"

I can't even say anything. I just collapse against her body, face first, buried into her shoulder. Maybe it's because I've been awake for thirty hours but I physically can't hold it together any longer.

Her arms wrap around my body immediately, pulling me inside the house. Mom was never a person to push someone, so I'm not surprised when she doesn't say anything. She lets me have my moment of crying against her shoulder. And I'm really thankful for that.

She gently drags me into the kitchen. Music is playing from the small, mint-green radio Dad and I got her for her birthday earlier this year. My mom is big on music, especially jazz. She pushes me down on a chair. Seconds later, I have a bowl of noodles in front of my face.

"I just put Caleb down for a nap", she says, pushing the bowl further in my direction.

Only when the smell of the spaghetti reaches my nose do I feel the hunger basically beating my stomach up from the inside. I haven't eaten since I left my apartment in New York. Which was approximately twenty-four hours ago.

I wipe the sleeve of my hoodie over my eyes and cheeks before I reach for the fork.

"How’s he doing?", I ask, my voice hoarse, "Caleb, I mean."

"He’s currently trying this new thing where he screams at the top of his lungs whenever he doesn’t immediately get what he wants."

"Precious."

"You say that now", she points her index finger at me warningly, "Give it two days and your ears will bleed."

A grin stretches on my face and it almost hurts. The last time I’ve truly smiled must have been, like, a week ago. The feeling is weird, almost like the muscles in my cheeks are sore.

"So", Mom tilts her head a little to the side, causing her long black hair to fall over one shoulder, "I’m happy that you came for a visit, sweetheart, but… Aren’t you in the middle of the semester?"

Instead of answering, I stuff my face with a fork full of noodles.

"Bram, I told you, it’s okay if you want to reconsider Columbia. Or the choice of your major. Just give it a little more time, it’s not—"

"It’s not that", I say, "It doesn’t have to do with college."

"So what is it?" Her fingers gently graze over my forearm. "Talk to me."

"It’s a boy." I try to focus entirely on my noodles, trying to get as many of them on the fork, but somehow, I think I’m trying too hard because my mind is everywhere but with the noodles.

Mom is perfectly silent for a few seconds. This is still new for her. I mean, I've come out to her and Dad a month ago, pretty much exactly on the date, but I guess that wasn't enough time for her to get truly used to it. Which is fair, to be honest. It's a different thing to get used to the _idea_ of your son being gay and actual being _confronted_ with it.

Not that she's taking it bad right now. She just takes a moment to adjust to the conversation's topic.

"A boy", she says finally, "What boy? Is it your roommate? Cal?"

I close my eyes at the name for a second — which _I know_ is ridiculous. "No. Or yes. It's not him but it has to do with him."

"Bram." She shakes her head almost unnoticeably. "I can't— Please talk me through this."

I lean back against the backrest of my chair. I mean, I guess I'm kind of a private person, even to my parents. The fact that I am gay isn't the only reason why I have never talked to them about crushes. Putting myself out there just feels strange to me. Even though this is my mother, even though I _know_ that I can trust her, I feel like everything I say can and will eventually be held against me.

"His name is Simon", I say.

Her mouth twitches a little as if she wants to let out a little smile.

"So, I did this thing." I clear my throat. "Or Abby _made_ me do this thing."

Mom's smile grows even wider at the mention of Abby Suso. That's the effect Abby has on people, not just parents, she puts a smile on everyone's face, no matter if she's in the room or not.

"It's an experiment. You're basically paired up with a partner and you ask each other thirty-six specific questions over email, taking turns. Everything in complete anonymity."

Mom nods.

"The thesis is that two people are able to fall in love just by asking each other these questions", I explain, "It's a psychological thing. Abby was really excited about it. Anyway. So I was paired up with a guy that called himself Jacques…"

The more I talk, the more weight seems to be lifted off my chest. It's almost like I'm kicking it off myself with each word. I didn't think it would actually feel so freeing to tell the whole story out loud to someone who isn't tangled up in all this mess.

So I tell my mom everything, even that I already had a crush on Simon to begin with, before I knew he was Jacques. That it was kind of love at first sight, from the moment he walked into the first lecture we had together and fell over his untied shoelaces. I smile at the memory.

When I reach the present part of the story, the part where Simon and Cal, my fucking best friend, are on a date, Mom interrupts me: "But why didn't you say anything?" Her hand is still laying on my forearm as if she's scared I will close up again if she let go of me.

"It's not… I…" I sigh, then take a deep breath in. "I couldn't break Cal's heart like that. When he told me about that date, he had this look in his eyes, Mom. As if he'd been waiting for that to happen for a long time."

"I mean", she says, "Why didn't you tell Simon right away that he guessed wrong? Things like that happen, Bram. People make mistakes. It doesn't have to be such a big deal."

"I just. I was so sure he knew it was me", I say. And suddenly, I feel even more guilty for leaving Simon hanging for a full week. I probably made it worse with that. "But I guess… I guess he was just seeing what he wanted to see. Cal."

Mom actually rolls her eyes at me. And I can tell it's the highly logical Epidemiologist in her speaking when she opens her mouth, "Bram, this is pathetic. I understand that your ego is a little hurt right now, but you're probably overthinking the whole thing. How would you feel if you were the one that guessed wrong? If Jacques wasn't Simon. Would you feel different about him?"

"No, I—" I stop. Suddenly my mouth feels dry. _What am I even doing here?! Why did I quit the experiment? I should have just told Simon and moved on. It's not a big deal, Mom is right._ "If I were the one to guess wrong I wouldn't want it all to stop. I mean. Mom… you're right, I—"

More tears. Just when I thought there were none left.

She scoots closer to me with her chair, laying an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into her chest. "Hey. It's okay, honey. You're confused. That's what love does. There are chemicals in your brain going insane right now, you can't do anything about it."

I sniff.

"But it's not too late. You told Simon he guessed wrong at least. And even if he didn't read it before his date with Cal, he probably has figured out by now that he was wrong." She presses a kiss on the top of my head. "Just don't make it too hard for him now. Let him explain why he thought the way he did. Think about what you said. You said your feelings for him wouldn't have changed if the roles were flipped. It's the same for him. I can tell."

I stare at my knees. The smell of the spaghetti is starting to make me feel nauseated.

 _Mom is right._ I imagine Simon on his way to meet Cal receiving the email, stopping in his tracks, reading it. The world probably fell apart for him. I wouldn't be surprised if he just turned around and ran away, leaving Cal waiting for the whole night.

 _I should check up on Cal._ He's probably heartbroken and doesn't even know why.

Mom must have interpreted the mildly tensed expression on my face correctly because she's taking the bowl of noodles away from me to the sink and starts to clean it up.

I fish my phone out of the pocket of my jeans. It has five percent of battery left. Enough to send a quick text, I'm sure. Except when the screen lights up, I'm greeted with the notifications of two missed calls and three texts from Cal.

> **Cal (11:46 am):** fuck bram something happened
> 
> **Cal (11:46 am):** please call me back asap
> 
> **Cal (11:47 am):** i'm so sorry


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more drama! more angst!

My old room now belongs to Caleb, therefore I have to settle down in the guest room which is quite frankly more of a storage closet than a bedroom. Once my suitcase and I entered the room, there’s basically zero inches of space left. If I end up moving back in with my family after I graduate college, this is going to be a problem. But I know they are looking for another house anyway.

I flop down on the mattress, the bed frame squeaks. There’s a socket conveniently right next to the headboard so I plug my charger right in. My phone makes a relieved _ping_ now that it’s finally being charged.

Cal’s messages are still open. I read over them again quickly. _Something happened_. I furrow my brows. _What is it? Is it something with the publishing deal for Blue Lightning?_

I tap the call icon next to Cal’s name.

He answers on the second ring. "Bram."

"Hey", I say, "What’s up?"

"Where are you?", he asks, and there’s chatter and car noises in the background as if he’s walking down a busy street.

"Uh, in Savannah", I say, "I told you yesterday morning I was going to leave."

"Yeah, duh." Suddenly, the white noise in the background vanishes and for a few seconds, it’s perfectly quiet on his end of the line. "I mean, _where are you_?"

"Oh. In bed. Haven’t slept on the train, I’m—"

"Simon is the guy you were talking to over email, right?", he asks, his voice stern, "The guy from the experiment."

I stare at my knees. These days, even _thinking_ Simon’s name hurts, _hearing_ it from Cal, however, almost destroys me. "Y-Yeah."

Cal takes in a sharp breath. "Fuck."

I mean, _what am I supposed to say? Is he mad?_ I basically let him walk face first into a disaster. It must suck to be ditched on a first date. _I should have told him._

"Bram, you… Why…" I can imagine him driving a hand through his light blonde hair. "Why didn’t you tell me?"

"I’m sorry", I say.

"I— What? No." He swallows. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know… Bram, shit… This shouldn’t have happened, I’m—"

Suddenly, something starts to feel off. "What shouldn’t have happened?" _What’s that supposed to mean? What is he not telling me?_

Cal is silent, and for a moment I think he hung up, but I can still hear him breathing. Uneven. "Bram, I swear, if I had known—"

My world is falling apart. Right this second it’s crashing down before my eyes, leaving me with nothing but ruins. _Please don’t say it._

"He didn’t say anything", Cal rambles on, "I swear to fucking god, Bram, I wouldn’t have—"

"What wouldn’t you have done?" I almost don’t recognize my voice. It’s harsh and bitter and so unlike myself, I almost flinch. _Please don’t let them have kissed._

I know Cal so well, I can picture him closing his eyes in despair. "I… I wouldn’t have slept with him."

If my world did already crash down, and I’m already left with just the ruins, then now everything is vanishing. I think I don’t feel anything for a second. It’s almost like my body and brain aren’t connected. I’m sitting there, perfectly calm, while my mind goes haywire in the worst way possible. _They had sex. They didn’t just kiss. Simon knew Cal wasn’t Blue and still went along with it._

"Bram, can you please say something?" Cal’s voice is higher than usual.

That’s when my body and brain connect again. I slowly take my phone away from my ear — Cal is still talking — and I just hang up on him. I stare at the _call ended_ screen for two seconds before my hand just… kind of slips and the next thing I know is I’m throwing my phone across the room. It doesn’t have a long way to fly, to be fair, until it smashes against the door, leaving a dent in the wood.

 

***

 

Cal and Simon had sex. Simon slept with Cal, fully aware, _knowing_ that he wasn’t Blue. _I think I am in love with you_ — That’s what he wrote to me. _I am in love with you my ass, Simon!_ _If being in love in love means fucking the next best person for you, then I don’t want it._

I’m so mad, I don’t even bother to pick up my phone from the floor when it starts ringing. _Let it ring. It’s just Cal. And I’m never going to talk to him again._

Even though I am so angry it actually hurts, there’s still this painfully rational voice inside my head, trying to hold it all together. But that’s bound to fail. What has been destroyed cannot be held together anymore.

Here’s a thing. Simon received my email and still went on his date with Cal. Fair enough, he’s probably too polite to ditch someone. But this is where it ends — even for the rational part of me. _How could he be in love with Blue and kiss and have sex with someone he knows isn’t Blue? How?_

I close my eyes. And it’s only then that the tears spill over, falling to my cheeks. I don’t sob but I don’t try to stop them either. Not until I hear the little _thumb thumb thumb_ noises nearing my door, anyway.

When I see the doorknob move, I quickly wipe my shirt sleeve over my eyes. I can’t get myself to smile, though. I don’t think I can smile ever again.

The door opens, and there he is. The officially cutest kid in the universe: my little brother, Caleb. He must have just woken up from his nap — too early, judging by my mom’s face behind him — because he’s still in his pajamas, with his pink pacifier in his mouth. He does this kind of scream that’s somewhere between a squeal and a giggle when he sees me sitting on the bed.

"Hey!", my voice is hoarse. I stretch my arms out toward him.

My parents had Caleb last year. He’s roughly eighteen months old by now, and not yet the surest when it comes to walking. He waddles right into my arms.

It’s something about his smell, this specific, innocent baby smell, that calm my nerves immediately. Well, it doesn’t really calm my nerves, but it kind of organizes them in a way. Whereas my first reaction was freaking out over the whole thing and being out of my mind angry about it, I now realize I’m much sadder and more disappointed.

And I’m not sure what’s worse.

Mom sits down next to me on the mattress. "Hey, are you okay?", she asks in a low voice.

I just nod at her. Mainly because I know if I told her, she will be all reasonable and smart about it, and I don’t wanna hear it. It’s not like I want my heart to keep on breaking, but I’m also not too far out of my mind that I forget that I have every reason to feel the way I do. Simon made a mistake. More than just a mistake. He caused a fucking disaster. And I don’t want anyone to convince me of any less.

 

***

 

I spend the entire afternoon playing with Caleb. My phone, in the meantime, is exploding with texts and notification. The screen of the thing might be cracked, but it’s still working perfectly fine. Most of the messages are from Cal, and after I skimmed over the fifty-eighth, I finally block him. But the vibrating doesn’t stop. This time it’s Abby.

> **Abby (4:02 PM):** hey, b, i saw you quit the experiment
> 
> **Abby (4:03 PM):** you alright?

Caleb is fully submerged into an episode of PAW Patrol, his mouth hanging wide open as if he’s in constant shock of every piece of dialogue. It’s kind of hilarious and I’d definitely laugh about it if I wasn’t feeling completely dead inside.

> **Abby (4:06 PM):** cal told me you’re in savannah. wth are you doing in savannah?

 

We’re on the third episode of PAW Patrol now and I just gotta say, this show is ridiculous. But then again, I used to consume Barney like it was my drug of choice when I was Caleb’s age so I guess it’s fine. Except I’m getting a headache.

So I prop up a couple of pillows against my back and fish my earphones out of the pocket of my jeans. For a minute or two, I listen to music. But that’s not satisfying.  
Okay, I said I don’t want my heart to keep on breaking, but that was before my ears were abused by talking dogs for an hour straight. Nothing can keep my mind off Simon for long anyway, so why not make it worse myself.

I start with his Instagram. To be fair, I have been good about the whole social media thing. I waited for _him_ to follow _me_ first and I didn’t like every single picture of his. That doesn’t mean I haven’t looked, stared, and completely absorbed every one of them. But I mean Simon’s profile is just too convenient. He posts just the right amount of selfies — to make sure I never forget how pretty his fucking face is. 

But instead of staring into his beautiful, moon-gray eyes for hours on end, I click on the videos. And I listen to him sing. After Nick filmed him singing at the bar once, it kind of became a ritual, and now Simon seems completely comfortable with showing off his voice on the internet. Which he totally should — he sounds amazing.

Caleb rips one of my earbuds out and giggles.

"Hey!", I say, gently grabbing a hold of his arm, "What was that, little one?"

He giggles even more.

"She didn’t lie!", comes a voice out of the hallway. Seconds later, my dad walks into the living room. "You’re here!"

Caleb does the squeal again, which doesn’t exactly do wonders for my headache. _Maybe I should sleep._ Dad picks him up and presses a kiss to his cheek before he falls down on the couch next to me, Caleb in his lap.

"What are you doing here?", Dad asks.

Okay, so it’s different to talk to my dad than it is to my mom. It has always been like that. I guess it’s because we’re more similar to each other — both rather on the emotional side, thinking more with our hearts than our brains.  
Dad _just_ gets me. When I came out, he just nodded at me. I’m one hundred percent sure he knew. And I don’t know why, but that’s kind of reassuring to me in a way.

I glance at Caleb for a second, but he’s busy playing with the tie Dad wears to work. "I kind of… broke up with someone", I say but row back immediately, "Without dating him in the first place. I just."

"Mom told me", he says, smiling a little, "She was really worried so she called me at work. She told me you two already talked and that it’s not that big of a deal but—"

"It kind of is." I clear my throat. _I’m not sure if I wanna talk about this right now, to be honest._ I mean, it felt freeing to tell Mom, mostly because I needed to hear the perspective of someone who isn’t in the heart of the hurricane, but that was also before I knew Simon and Cal had sex.

So that’s a thing now and I’m really fucking sad about it. And I don’t really know if I want to share it. Maybe it’s because I’m scared Dad, _and Mom_ , will tell me that that means it’s hopeless. That it’s over. _Poof_.

_I don’t think I’m ready for that._

"I know, Mom always makes it sound so easy", Dad chuckles a little, but his eyes look at me worryingly, "Just. Let me know if you wanna talk."

"Thanks, Dad." I get up from the couch. A little too fast — I’m actually getting lightheaded. "I’m gonna go nap or… yeah, I’m really tired."

"Okay, but I’ll wake you up for dinner in an hour. I swear, that New Yorker air made you grow so much, you need to put on some weight to balance." _Which is just the most_ Dad _sentence ever._

 

***

 

> **Abby (4:35 PM):** listen. i know you were paired up with simon. did something happen?
> 
> **Abby (4:58 PM):** i swear to god if he did something nasty i’m calling the quits on this friendship
> 
> **Abby (4:58 PM):** even though he’s such a cute peanut and you two would be p e r f e c t together
> 
> **Abby (5:00 PM):** okay, i know this was too much. please text back

My eye sockets actually hurt when I look at the screen of my phone — I’m _that_ tired. But I need to give Abby a quick heads up. It’s kind of my responsibility. I know I would die if she just disappeared.

> **Bram (5:01 PM):** I’m okay.

I can’t think of anything better to say, to be honest. Obviously, it’s a blunt lie, but I don’t feel like crying to Abby over text messages right now.

And Abby doesn’t seem to feel like that as well. Because she’s facetimeing me pretty much immediately. I can’t help but accept the call. Her face appears on my screen. Luckily, the crack is exactly where my face would appear, small in the corner, so I can’t see myself. I probably look—

"Wow, you look like shit", is the first thing Abby says.

"Thanks." I roll on my stomach on the mattress. "Just what I needed to hear."

Her face goes soft as soon as she hears my voice. "Are you okay?"

Maybe it’s because I’ve known her all my life, or that she has stuck with me through _everything_ , or that she could easily tell if I was lying — I just drop my mask. "Not really", I admit.

"Wanna talk about it?" She makes it sound casual, but I know she’s worried.

"Do I have to use a filter?"

"Of course not." A small grin tucks on the corners of her mouth. "Please, I’m always up to hear you swear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really got 30+ kudos JUST with the first chapter! Thank you so much <3  
> (also, don't worry, there's going to be less angst soon)


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to my beautiful beta Marina for yelling at me! because of her bram has not died of the cold feet sickness (yet) (muahahah)

_I feel like shit._ I haven't even opened my eyes yet, and I already feel like pure, utter shit.

Mostly, it's the Simon Drama. Simon Cal Drama. Simon Cal Having Sex Drama. Fuck. _Fuck everything, fuck them both for fucking._ I mean, I don't even know how to feel other than _Shit_. Am I supposed to be angry? Sad? Both? Because my brain is doing 180s at the speed of light between the two options.

Talking to Abby did help. For approximately five minutes. She has this thing to herself, I guess it's kind of like an aura if you will, that seems to radiate even through FaceTime and just made me feel… better, I guess. Her saying "Honestly, just screw all men" even made me smile. I hope Nick didn't hear her.

I mean, I wish I _could_ screw all men. And I guess I could most of them. It's not like I'm one to develop crushes easily. If I were, I'd been head over heels for Cal for wit and positive energy alone as soon as I met him. But there was never more than friendship between Cal and me, and now even that is broken.

But there's no way I can screw Simon, right? As much as I want to. And I want to. So much.

I turn to my side, and I realize that there's another factor to my Shitty Feeling: I haven't eaten since the noodles yesterday. Following that new train of thought further, it's clear that my brain doesn't feel like eating, but my body definitely does. 

I get out of bed slowly. Everything feels so heavy. I make my way to the kitchen in the dimly lit house. It 's too early, and still dark since it's winter. But I do realize something. My parents hung up new art pieces on the wall in the hallway. Minimalistic and simple black and white prints of people of different races, holding hands. And then a lot of framed calligraphy. _Be yourself and revel in it_ , reads one. _Let yourself be the person you secretly always wanted to be_ , says another. It's ever so subtle, but it warms my heart. They must have found and hung up these after I came out to them. Because it's a thing my family does — they listen, they accept, they integrate.

Everything is so quiet and peaceful here… The irony in that is not lost on me.

I spend some time blankly looking at the food in the fridge. I don't know what to eat, because my brain decided not to help me with menial tasks.

With a sigh, I let the fridge fall shut and rise to my tiptoes, opening the cupboard above. It's my dad's secret hiding spot for candy. Well, it's not so secret anymore — to me, anyway. I discovered it one night, before the dance in seventh grade, glad to find five jars of Nutella stored away in there. There must have been a bargain deal on Nutella back then. The memory of binge eating all these five jars in one sitting almost brings a smile to my face. But then I remember telling Jacques this story. _Simon_.

I decide on a bag of Reese's minis. I guess it doesn't matter what I'm eating for breakfast as long as I'm eating it at all. But I'm really just going through the motions, glad my muscles have memorized how to eat.

I finish half the bag still standing, that's how hungry I am, and I just began fishing a clean glass out of the dishwasher to pour some milk and then sit down properly, when I hear a faint knocking on the door.

Normally, I would freak out about a border horror film moment like this, but I'm tired and sad and I just don't give a damn. _I'm not even going to bother. I'll just ignore it._

Knocking, again.

I roll my eyes and suppress a groan. _Seriously, what mailman comes this early? I mean, it must be a mailman, right?_

Knocking, again.

With another sigh, I shamble through the hallway, not even turning on the lights as I go. Right before the front door, I stop. I'm kind of used to my door in New York that has a little peephole on eye level. That isn't the case here. "Hello?," I say in a careful, low voice. It's a miracle Caleb hasn't woken up yet, honestly.

"Bram?", a familiar voice replies.

And that's it, with one swift hand motion I open the door. And there he is. Of course. I would recognize his voice everywhere. "Cal?! What the fuck are you doing here?!"

It's almost happening in slow motion: his electric blue eyes going all soft as soon as he sees me, his lips slightly parting, his backpack falling to the ground with a damped _thump_.

But then it's back to real time, suddenly.

My first impulse is to punch him. But he stops my fist with a firm grip of his hand right before it’s about to hit his face. "You know, I actually deserve that", he says, "But there are cops down the street, so better let me in first."

I don’t even know what to say. There’s Cal Price standing in front of me. Cal Price, my roommate in New York, with just a backpack laying to his feet.

He pushes me back a little and steps into my house — which doesn’t exactly sit well with me. I mean, _who does he think he is?_ "What the fuck are you doing here?", I ask again, pushing a foot out before the door can fall close. _There’s no way in hell he’s staying here._

"Bram?", my mother calls sleepily from down the hallway.

Cal tilts his head a little to the side, this insecure look on his face. I really want to punch him. But instead, I reach around him, open the door wider again, and shove him out. He opens his mouth a little as if to argue but closes it when I step out on the street as well.

"Let’s go." I nod in an uncertain direction, already walking.

"You know you’re not wearing proper shoe—" He shuts his mouth when he realizes I won’t listen and falls into step next to me. "Bram, please, I—"

We pass the cops that are sitting in their car, munching on donutsfor breakfast. Both of them look at me, of course, they do, and raise their eyebrows at my feet. I mean, yeah, I'm not wearing shoes — instead, I'm wearing slippers and socks that don't match. Because that's my fucking life right now.

Even though fall has fully kicked in in New York, the weather in Savannah is still a pleasant 60 degrees in the morning. A little chilly for someone wearing slippers, but not cold.

I drag Cal to Malcolm Park, which is really just a small green space people come to play with their dogs. The sun is barely rising so it's perfectly empty. The grass wets my socks through the slippers.

"Bram."

We sit down on a bench. Even though I feel way too skittish and uneasy to sit. But I just _know_ the cops slowly followed us down the street and are now waiting in their car for the slightest inconvenience on my part.

"Don't worry, I still can't hit you", I say dryly, "They're right over there."

Cal throws a look down the road and rolls his eyes. "I swear to God."

"I'm sorry", I blurt.

His head snaps back around. "What?"

"I'm sorry", I repeat. I mean, _I don't even know._ "I should have told you it was Simon."

"Bram, just…" He drives a hand through his light blonde hair. "Just shut the fuck up. Seriously. This is not your fault, like, _at all_." He pauses to stare at his knees. "I'm so sorry, I… I deserve all your anger."

I mean, I'm most definitely still angry. And mad. And sad. But seeing him here, next to me, disheveled and kind of desperate, with dark circles under his eyes — I just can't _yell_ at him. And also, you know, _the cops_.

"You—", I start, but Cal interrupts me.

"Can I just say something?"

I shut my mouth and nod at him. Honestly, I don't even know if I care anymore. Everything feels so far away, unreachable, almost abstract.

"Just. I don't want to blame Simon, okay?" He wipes the palms of his hands over his jeans a couple of times. "But. If he had said something… I wouldn't have… I would— Bram, please, you have to believe me. If I had known he was the guy from the emails, I wouldn't have slept with him. I wouldn't have done _anything_. I—"

Now it's me who's interrupting. I just can't hold it back. "You do like him", I say, "Like, a lot."

Cal is still staring at his knees, but I can see him blinking a few fast times now. It takes him half an eternity to answer. "I… I do, yeah."

I nod, slowly. Every one of my motions is a reflex by now, to be honest.

"But I had no idea, I swear, Bram." He finally looks up at me, cheeks and eyes slightly reddened. "It started as just this little thing, you know. When I first saw him at our apartment — the night you were studying, remember?"

I nod, again.

"That's the first time I ever saw him. And I didn't think any of it. I was like, _yeah, he's cute, I guess_ , but nothing more. It wasn't love at first sight or some shit." He shakes his head a little. "But from then on… I don't even know. I just kept seeing him everywhere. And I don't mean that metaphorically. Literally. I _saw_ him. On campus between lectures, at Starbucks, at the gym. Most times _he_ didn't even see _me_. But that's when I kind of realized that I… I couldn't stop thinking about him."

That's a thing Simon does, I guess. Smiling at you once and then living inside your brain for the rest of forever.

"I'm not going to lie, Bram, okay?", he frowns, as if he's still contemplating what to say next, "I guess I knew you had a thing for him. I mean, literally, a blind person could see there was _something_. But I just — God, I'm so sorry. I just kind of… pretended not to notice?" He makes it sound like a question. When I don't answer, he babbles on, "I mean, I wasn't just pretending, at some point, I was literally talking myself into thinking I was just imagining that there was something between the two of you. And I reckoned if I just… you know, asked him out and he said yes, then that would be a clear sign. So I did that… I just asked him out", Cal shrugs, "And he said yes and so I thought—"

"He thought you were me", I say.

"Wait." Cal raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"That's why he said yes." I do realize how mean that sounds, but… I guess I kind of want it to. I don't know. I'm not there yet. Cal clenches his jaw. "Because he thought you were the guy he was emailing."

"Oh." Cal is back to hypnotizing his own legs. "Oh. So… he didn't even… oh."

I immediately feel sorry. I shouldn't have said that. At least not in the way I did. It's just… just hearing Cal talk about Simon makes my mind go haywire in the worst way possible. I can't help but imagine them kissing and — well, _worse_.

"He thought you were Blue. And then I sent him an email, telling him he was wrong. So he knew before your actual date."

"That's why…" Cal nods slightly to himself, lips slightly parted. He clears his throat. "That's why he seemed kind of out of it in the beginning, I see."

"He did?"

"Yeah." He swallows. "But I thought it were just the nerves. You know, because I was _fucking_ nervous. And it vanished halfway through the date, too. I mean, we kissed and…"

"Yeah." It takes all my willpower not to ball my fists. My inner turmoil is raging. I feel nothing and simultaneously all at once. _How can all of this keep getting worse and worse?_ I mean, I can't even be angry with Cal, can I? _No_. It's Simon I should be mad at. _And I am_. But Cal is right here. And he isn't the one I'm in love with. It's easier.

"I wouldn't have gone along with it." Cal's voice is so quiet, it immediately makes me go all soft again. I'm seriously getting nauseated because of this inner roller coaster. "You have to believe me, Bram. You just have to."

I think I do. _But do I?_

"I just." He tears his gaze away from his thighs again, focussing on a spot right above my shoulder. "I never meant for this to become such a disaster. I never thought I could lose you because of this. I don't want to lose you, Bram. You're my fucking best friend."

My throat is tight.

"You know, I never just click with people. I was always the odd one out in high school. That weird theater nerd that drew all over his notes and textbooks. The one that kissed a boy when he was drunk for the first time, but never really came out until much, much later. People never wanted to be friends with me, and I guess I never felt a need to befriend anyone. But then I met you and you were… It felt like it _had_ to be you." He huffs a little. "And I know this sounds fucking sappy. I don't mean it in a romantic way."

Something tucks on the corners of my mouth. A smile! Just a little one, though, I don't even think it's noticeable.

"And." Cal looks up to the sky, and I realize there are actual tears in his eyes. "I'm not going to let a fucking _boy_ come between this." He gestures vaguely between him and I. "I'm just not going to let this happen."

And I do believe him. It's a weird sudden feeling, but I really do believe him. All of what he said, every single word. He really isn't the one to blame. He didn't even make a mistake. He was in the unknown the entire time.

"Hey, stop crying", I say, nudging his shoulder with mine, "The cops will see and arrest me for it."

He throws another look down the street and quickly wipes his eyes. "Sorry."

"Stop saying that", I say, "I believe you."

He looks up at me, a single teardrop hanging from his lashes. "You do?"

"Yeah, you're really fucking persuasive when you cry." The smile that's stretching out over my face almost hurts. "Jokes aside, though. I really do believe you. And I'm sorry I hung up on you before you could explain and that you came all the way down here and that I didn't speak to you earlier."

With that, he wraps an arm around my shoulders and gives me a short, awkward sitting hug.

"And I'm sorry things with Simon didn't work out." It feels kind of bittersweet, saying that. "I mean, I'm glad, in a way, obviously. But I also just want you to be happy."

Cal nods slowly, his arms still wrapped around my shoulders. "You do like him a lot, too, don't you?"

"Fuck, yeah." And it's kind of embarrassing because _that's_ what is bringing the tears to _my_ eyes now. I quickly wipe over them with my shirt sleeve. "I do. More than just _like_ even."

"Wow." Cal swallows what I guess is the same bittersweet taste I have in my mouth as well. "You win, then."

"There's nothing to win", I say, "Or, well, there is. Not losing you as a friend is a win."

He smiles for just a second.

"But it's exactly like you said." I sigh. "No boy is worth this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll get "no boy is worth this" tattooed on my forehead


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *tackle hugs cal* ;(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **hellur! happy 2019** , people! how's that existential crisis coming along? *winks* mine's doing great
> 
> anyway. wow. haven't updated in a while, have i? woops
> 
> as always, special thanks to [marina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CathyM) for, like, beta reading, helping me, being a mom?? i don't deserve u 🖤

 "Seriously, just tell me what they put in New York's water." Mom has to get on her tippy toes to properly hug Cal. "I thought you'd stop growing eventually, but both of you are, like, five inches taller than when I saw you last."

"It just seems like it," I say, "because you have this little dwarf waddling around every day." I nod toward Caleb who is sitting on the floor, happily crashing two toy cars against each other.

Mom tilts her head a little to the side. "Might be. Anyway. I didn't expect you here, Cal!"

Cal and I exchange a quick look. "I'm, uh, yeah."

"So, are you two…" Mom lifts her voice toward the end of the unfinished sentence, making it sound like a question.

"Friends," I say, smiling a little, "Again. Or still."

A content expression washes over her face, and — oh yeah, she doesn't know about the Simon And Cal Sex thing. So she probably thinks her advice did the trick and made us best bros again.

And honestly, I don't even have the energy to tell her any different.

"Your dad should be out of the bathroom soon." Mom yawns. "Don't get me wrong, you two, but at least one of you has to take a shower rather sooner than later."

I have a feeling it's me.

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but..." Cal grins at me mischievously.

 

Showers make everything a little better. It's not a thesis, it's a fact. I don't know what it is about them, but there is definitely truth to Matty Healy's words: _Get in the shower if it all goes wrong_.

I come back to a now moody Caleb refusing his breakfast, a still tired mother, and Cal who found the unfinished bag of Reese's. I flop down on the chair next to him. It's funny, even though I'm not home a lot, Caleb's whining becomes a white noise in the background real quick.

Mom sighs, "I'm gonna go change his nappy. Maybe that's his problem."

"Nice hoodie," Cal comments as soon as my mother is out of the room. And yeah, it's kind of ridiculous. It's a bright green one with _The Hulk!_ Written on the back and Hulk's sixpack on the front. Sixteen-year-old Bram thought it was cool.

I grin back at him and steal one of the Reese's, but something is still thickening the air between us. Not in a bad way necessarily, though. It's just _something_ , and it's there.

"About Simon", Cal says as if he read my mind. Knowing him, he probably did read my mind. "Should we… I guess we should talk about him, right?"

"Yeah, I think so", I say.

He looks around the kitchen, eyebrows raised a little. "Here?"

I shrug, "Mom and Caleb will take a while. I would suggest we go to my room, but what once was my room is now ninety percent toys, and the room I’m staying in is a single bed with walls around it."

"Right. Okay," Cal says, looking slightly reluctant, maybe a bit nervous. And I get it. This whole situation is just awkward.

But we talk. He asks me what I think, what I want, and also to forgive him about a hundred times more. It's ringing in my ears a bit, to be honest, but it's also kind of nice. To know this friendship means so much to him. To know that for once, I'm not the one giving more; that we're exactly on the same page.

Although, at the moment, I'm not so certain what of what I think, what I want, or what I feel, but talking to him helps. The first couple sentences are broken by various _uhm_ s and _I dunno_ s, but then the dam seems to slowly crack. I mean, I don't even know where to start. The beginning would be a good place, I guess, but my if I really think about it, this entire Simon thing started way before the first email.

But I don't tell Cal everything. I'm still the tiniest bit cautious, and also, I don't want to hurt him. The truth is, though, with every word I'm using to recount the story of the emails in detail, I realize just how deeply I've fallen for Simon. I mean, I guess I knew — but now it's just bluntly hitting me in the face. And I honestly don't think there's a way back.

I tell Cal that. It bubbles out of me without much restraint, although I'm so desperately trying not to hurt his feelings. He focuses his attention on the kitchen table, blinking suspiciously fast, and nods. I can tell he's trying to keep his cool, but he seems to be asking for reassurance with every breath he takes.

I ask him the same questions — what he wants, what he thinks, what he feels.

He looks at me with a surprised expression on his pale cheeks. He wasn't expecting me to do that. _Maybe it was a mistake._

"You don't… you know. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," I say swiftly, "I asked because I thought it was only fair. I'm clearly not the only person with feelings here, and—"

"No, it's okay," Cal says, "You're right." He smiles a little, a smile that mixes both gratitude for our friendship with sadness and his actual feelings towards Simon. It's almost painful to watch.

And I just know. I just _know_ , and I can't stop myself from saying it, "You love him."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do, Cal."

"But you do too," he immediately says, "and probably more than I do, and for way longer anyway." He shrugs, but it's a stiff motion.

"I… I—" I need to collect myself for a second. My thoughts are racing about a hundred miles a second, it's dizzying.

"I'm not going to do anything, regarding Simon," he says suddenly, voice strangely calm, "It's too messy. Like, _way_ too messy. And our friendship means so much more. I told you, I was always the weird kid. But with you, I don't feel so weird. You're the best friend, Bram." He swallows thickly, but his voice is still even when he continues, "And really, I have made up my mind. I had a lot of time to think on the train down here — almost too much time, if you know what I mean. I ran everything over and over and…"

I listen to his voice trailing off, he probably tries to find the right words.

Finally, he exhales kind of loudly and looks me straight in the eye, "This is it. Simon is not an option for me, not anymore." He lifts both his hands in some sort of reenacted defeat. "You should take your time and decide what you wanna do with all this mess, but… I'm out of the equation."

My stomach flips at the certainty in his words and his eyes, and I'm honestly just nauseated at this point. But I trust him. "Okay," I say softly, still a little afraid I might break him, "Okay."

We stay in silence briefly, both of us trying to grasp everything that has just happened. I don't think I have ever felt such a wide range of emotions in such a short amount of time in my life.

I hear Caleb shrieking from down the hall.

"Now what?"

 

***

 

Cal and I spend most of the day on the couch in a state of unspoken misery. Even though we both agreed on not talking about Simon for a while, I can tell we're both moping.  
Cal keeps losing at Mario Kart, which usually _never_ happens, and I'm scrolling through Simon's and my messages. Because I haven't been in class in a week, he keeps texting me to check if I'm okay. And it takes everything in me not to give in. I'm still very much sad and angry — but he's also too adorable.

A controller flies across the room and lands in my lap.

"Ouch!," I make, looking at Cal, "I'm not responsible for your poor car racing skills!"

He rolls his eyes. "Look. I know what you're doing," he nods at my phone, "And you need to stop."

For some reason, I feel stubborn for the fraction of a second, almost like this is _still_ some kind of rivalry, so I try to hold his eye contact. But Cal has these electric, bright blue eyes, and he's frowning, so I just surrender. "Sorry."

"His Facebook or his Instagram?" Cal turns the volume of the TV down.

"Our text conversation."

"Oh, man," he groans, "Don't do that to yourself!"

I lock my phone and pick at the crack in the top corner. "I don't even know…"

Cal grabs a pillow and hugs it to his chest, "I get it, though."

I take the controller out of my lap and press start on a new round. Cal watches me getting and _staying_ in first place for two laps before he says, "So when do you want to go back to New York?"

Someone behind me activates a blue shell and I'm thrown off for a moment. Other characters rush past me and I'm suddenly in 5th place behind Bowser. I mean, what was I thinking, _I_ have _to go back at some point, right?_ I can't spend the rest of my life on this couch just because I'm too afraid to look into Simon's beautiful moon-gray — _okay, no, enough!_

I haven't even checked my email account since I got off the train.

"There's an overnight train leaving in three hours," Cal says, "We could—"

I open my mouth to protest just when Mom's head pokes into the living room, "What did I just hear?" she asks, "Cal, dear, there's no way I'm letting you go back tonight. You just traveled all the way down here! You have to stay at least one night!"

Cal and I exchange a look and I can tell we're both thinking the same thing: Yes, we talked about the whole thing. Yes, we are still best friends.

But.

_But._

Simon isn't dead. He hasn't magically vanished from this earth and taken the whole conflict as well as all the feelings with him.

He's still very much here, very much present. And I can tell from Cal's face — even though he came all the way down here; even though _no boy can ever come between us_ — his feelings for said boy aren't leaving nearly as fast as he wants them to.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bram's parents are the stars of this au

Cal leaves early the next morning and even though we haven't talked about Simon anymore, I'm still glad I'm alone again. Don't get me wrong, that Cal had the guts to come down here and talked things through is the best path this whole disaster could have taken, but I feel like I have to be alone now to fully cope with everything. Even if that coping is just sitting around in my pajamas, playing silly online games on my cracked phone.

I know I'm dreading something. And that something is checking my emails.

Gmail likes to do this thing of sending me the same notification about six hundred times. _New email from_ _hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com_.

It is Monday afternoon, October 6th, so I have been ignoring Simon's email for two days straight. Somehow, it feels like so much longer. Ever since things broke apart between us, time slowed down drastically. As if to drag out the pain even more.

With a sigh, I close my game and tap on the Gmail icon on the screen.

Instant regret. _I'm not ready_. I mean, it's fucking ridiculous. I've been receiving actual _texts_ from Simon for days, and I even responded from time to time — just out of pure fear he might call me and ask what's wrong. I don't think I could handle hearing his voice.  
And yet this email freaks me out. Even though it's the same person writing to me.

I close my eyes for the message to load — I have a feeling I not only cracked the screen of my phone but also slightly damaged its insides as it takes literal ages to process.

 _What am I expecting?_ I truly don't know. An apology — maybe, probably. But would an apology erase things? No, surely not.

 

> FROM: hourtohour.notetonote@gmail.com
> 
> TO: bluegreen118@gmail.com
> 
> DATE: October 4 at 3:30 PM
> 
> SUBJECT: Re: You
> 
> Dear Blue,
> 
> I'm sorry. I shouldn't have assumed something I wasn't one hundred percent sure of. Especially since you knew it was me and were right. But I don't think you really had a reason to blow the whole thing off.
> 
> Please, Blue. Just because I was wrong doesn't mean it was all for nothing. I miss you. Please write back.
> 
> Love,  
>  Simon

 

If at this point, I have any internal organs left, it feels like they are now slowly digesting themselves. I feel the guilt wash over me in a single giant wave. He's probably out of his mind confused and filled with regret right now, and I leave him hanging for days.

I tap the reply button. A blank sheet opens on the screen and the keyboard pops up.

_I can't do it._

I stare at the keyboard for the better part of five minutes only to realize the words won't come to me. Because there is nothing to say. Cal's words are still fresh in my mind. ' _It's too messy'_ and ' _You should take your time and decide what you wanna do with all this mess.'_ , and he's right. I need more time.

I close Gmail and lock my phone, resuming my attention to the episode of _Doctor Who_ on TV.

 

***

 

The next few days pass in a haze. Mom drags me out to the supermarket and I meet people I had wished to never see again after high school. The smalltalk is awkward but it could be worse, I guess.

The entire week goes by. All I really do is indulge in self-pity and stalk Simon's Instagram profile. He hasn't even posted a picture to his feed, so all I can focus on are the screenshots of songs he posts to his story. I listen to every single one of them. I feel something with every single one of them.

 

Dad's feet nudge against mine where they're laying on the coffee table. Mom isn't home or otherwise, she would probably skin us alive if she saw us hanging like that.

I'm on my phone, as usual, switching between Instagram, Tumblr, and this new Harry Potter game that I already forgot the name of despite being on level twenty-four.

"So, how much longer do I have to share my Secret Candy Closet?" Another nudge against my foot.

I look up, "You know Mom knows it's there, right?"

"Of course I know," he grins, "she skinned it back when she was pregnant. I could've ended world hunger with all the Snickers I bought in those nine months."

"Didn't she eat them with cheese sauce?"

He nods. We both shiver and then laugh.

"For real, though," he says then, muting the TV.

I don't know exactly how it happened, but I have, yet again, landed on Simon's Instagram profile. No new posts, but a suspicious activity in his story feature. I shrug.

"Look," he lifts his feet off the table as if he realizes he can't go full Dad Mode when he's lounging like a teen, "I know you feel bad, but—"

My ears do the thing where they just kind of… close. I can see Dad's mouth moving but none of what he says actually reaches my brain.

I know I have to go back eventually, sooner rather than later probably, but I'm just not there yet.

"Bram." He shifts in his seat. "Come on."

"No," I snap. It comes out way more defiant than I meant to, "Just. It's not. You don't know the half of it, okay?"

He leans back into the cushions, lacing his hands together in his lap, looking me up and down. "There is this boy."

I am _not_ in the mood right now. Suddenly, I wish I was back in New York. In my room in my apartment. Alone.

"And he hurt you."

He did. Part of which is my fault, probably, for leaving him hanging for too long, but yes, he did. It still hurts to think of him with Cal, even though I know I shouldn't be thinking about them together at all in the first place. But it sneaks up to me at night. Imagining that Cal, who's back in New York, could be talking to him right now.

The thing is, I really did believe Cal when he said he'd give up on Simon. That it is too much of a mess. But I guess the thing with love is, you can't just _give it up_. And that's slightly terrifying.

"I feel like I need to go out into a field or something and just," I wipe a shirt sleeve over my face, "scream."

Dad chuckles softly. And then he leans forward, untangling his hands to carefully touch my shoulder. "Let me tell you something, son," he says, "Everything looks like it's going to be the end of the world at your age. But the thing is, it's not."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

"I'm not saying what you're going through isn't valid, or that it doesn't hurt — I'm sure it does. In fact, I _know_ it does. But you're so young, Bram, and there's so much you don't know yet. You _can't_ know it yet. Life goes on. It doesn't feel like it right now, but it will. Things like that happen, and they hurt, but they will pass. And then they'll probably happen again at some point in the future. It won't get easier, it won't hurt less, but you'll be tougher."

I lean into his touch a little bit. My eyes feel dangerously wet.

"So as long as this boy isn't a criminal and has murdered someone," he laughs a bit, "he deserves a second chance. Chances are he's feeling just as poorly as you."

 _I wish it were that easy. I wish I were that carefree of a person. I wish I could shake off my those pesky emotions for a moment to think rationally._ Because yes, Simon deserves a second chance. Judging by his email, he does feel poorly.

I let myself fall sideways fully into my Dad's arms. He rubs a hand up and down my back.

"I love you, son, I really do," he says, "But if you're not out of the house by tomorrow afternoon, I'll glue your ass to a train seat myself."


	6. six

I'm back in New York the next evening. Mom was a bit perplexed when I announced I'd be taking the train back first thing in the morning, but didn't oppose. She kissed the top of my head, telling me she's proud of me.

I might have just been gone for ten days, but it was enough time for the city to truly step up its Halloween game. I make a quick stop at the Starbucks down my road and almost throw up all the food I haven't eaten today when I'm hit by a wave of the intense smell of about a thousand Pumpkin Spice Lattes being made. It's all people ever drink this time of year and I have to resist the urge to tell them all that that special thing — the Pumpkin Spice? — is nothing else than cinnamon.

It's hard to get the key into the lock of my apartment as I'm holding two steaming paper cups filled with hot drinks, but I manage. I kick the door open with my feet, sort of shimmying inside.

"Cal?" I ask out loud, already starting to toe off my shoes. But I see him before he can answer.

He's on the couch in a hoodie that I think belongs to me with his legs stretched out and slung over—

"Abby?" I ask.

"Five dollars _pour moi_!" she announces, stretching a hand out to Cal, "Told you he's gonna come back before Friday."

Cal lifts his legs out of her lap, pouting, "No fair. It's Thursday evening already."

"Which is still before Friday," Abby argues, wiggling her hand, "Now give me the five dollars."

" _Welcome back, Bram_!" I say in a cheery voice that almost makes my vocal cords hurt, " _We have missed you so much and we're so glad you're back!_ "

Abby pushes herself up from the sofa and flings her arms around my shoulders, "Shut up. Of course we're happy you're back." She kisses my cheek. "Oh my god, is that cocoa with extra whipped cream and tiny marshmallows? Marry me, Bram Greenfeld." She snatches one of the cups from my hand.

I can't even be mad at her. Just seeing her and Cal here, my two best friends, all cozy, and sort of missing me, is enough to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Caramel macchiato," I say, lifting the cup I'm still holding in Cal's direction.

Cal's chin quivers suspiciously before he gets up as well and hugs me. Tighter than Abby did and with more meaning than just _"I'm glad you're back"_ behind it.

 

***

 

We order pizza and watch old reruns of _Family Guy_ until late into the night. Technically, we all have class tomorrow morning, but I don't think any of us cares.

Abby's head falls against my shoulder and she yawns. Cal reaches out to grab the remote and switches off the tv. For a moment, we all sit in silence, the pizza in our bellies the only weight in our lives.

"Have you talked to Simon?" I ask. There's no point. I need to know, just for closure.

Cal pulls his legs up to his chest, "No. Haven't seen him much."

"Because you keep avoiding him like the plague, that's why," Abby comments.

There's a faint blush on Cal's cheeks as he gives me a sheepish smile. He mouths "Out of the equation" to me and shrugs, and this time, it's me who wants to give a giant hug.

"You need a night out," Abby says. Her voice is surprisingly stern for someone who's half lying there with their eyes closed.

I gape at her.

She seems to notice because she starts to grin, eyes still shut, and reaches a hand out to gently ruffle my hair, "Not you. Well, yes you. I mean both of you."

Cal and I exchange a quick glance that is impossible for her to notice, eyes opened or closed. I'm fairly sure we're both thinking the same thing.

"I'm not really in the mood for karaoke," Cal puts it into words.

Abby's eyes flutter open and her eyebrows shoot up, "I'm not talking about the freaking _karaoke_ _bar_. I'm not stupid. I don't want to confront both of you with Simon at the same time. I like New York better when it _isn't_ burning, thank you very much."

"Well, then what the hell _are_ you talking about?" I ask. Catching a glimpse of the faintly glowing digits of the clock beneath the TV explains everything: It's half past two. No patience left.

Abby pulls her legs up from the ground and swings them into Cal's lap. "A club, of course," she says.

"No," Cal and I both say at the same time.

"You enjoy going out," Abby says, pointing a finger at Cal.

"Well, I don't," I chime in.

"And I'm not in the mood," Cal says.

"You," Abby's finger wanders a crescent shape until it points at me, "Bram Greenfeld, have no idea where your comfort zone _actually_ ends because you never challenge it. You don't know if you like clubs or not because you've never been to one. All you do is sit around and wallow in self-pity and I'm not allowing it any longer. Not now that you're back in New York." She turns backs around to face Cal, "And you. You can stop, you know? It's _fine._ You two talked, didn't you? You can stop acting like a bruised dog, Cal, you did nothing wrong."

"I—"

"She's right." I don't sound like myself when I'm saying this. Maybe that's because it's so late at night, nothing feels like it usually does.

Cal narrows his eyes at me. I'm starting to feel seriously tired of this whole thing. I guess I'm allowed to be sad over Simon still — it's not like a heart can heal in the span of a week — but I need to stop being pathetic about it. I guess I'm making Cal feel like he still has something to be sorry about. But he doesn't. He talked to me as soon as the whole thing happened, _terrified_ that our friendship might be over; he hasn't talked to Simon since — hell, he's been _avoiding_ him! For _me_.

Abby's voice is a bit wary, "Does that mean—"

"I'm going to bed," I say and stand up before she can stop me. Seriously, it's been a long day. Even though I spent most of it sitting either in a train seat or on the couch, it's been draining — emotionally. I can't handle any further discussion about clubs tonight. I look at Cal for a second. He's smiling faintly, giving me a tiny nod.

 

***

 

As predicted, I'm dead the next day. A full-on zombie wandering around campus. I'm so late to my 8 am Creative Writing class, it's not even worth showing up at all anymore. I arrive in front of the hall just as the course is being dismissed.

And of course Simon is there.

He looks dead, too, but in a different way. He kind of always looks a little sleep-deprived, and it normally goes along with his hair — ever the perpetual bed-head —, but now he's taking it to the next level.  
He's wearing sweatpants and a Slytherin hoodie that's way too big on him. His blonde hair looks kind of flat. There are dark crescent shadows under his eyes. All in all, he looks so… off that it makes my heart ache. Not in the way that I miss him but I still want to revel in anger and self-pity a little while longer, but in the way that all I want to do is go up to him and hug the sadness away.

I come dangerously close to doing that. But as soon as he lifts his eyes from the screen of his phone to make sure he's not about to walk into a wall (He almost did. He would have if he hadn't looked up. My heart aches again.), my autopilot takes over and I jump around the nearest corner out of view.

I wait there for about a minute before eventually walking into the now empty lecture hall.

 

I'm meeting professors all day. It's probably unnecessary, considering I caught up on all the lectures online while I was away and got all my assignments in on time, but I want to make sure I really didn't miss anything. I _need_ to make sure. That's just the kind of person I am.

 

***

 

I'm freaking out. It's not the _first_ good emotion I have felt in a while but it's definitely the strongest one of those yet.

Cal is sat opposite me, shovelling spoon after spoon full of ramen into his mouth while frequently saying versions of "It's not that great" and "I was just bored".

I'm holding onto the iPad for dear life, flipping through pages upon pages of sketches and sometimes, in-between, finished drawings with perfect coloring and shading. It's not a cohesive story he drew, just little scenes. Not even all of it is _Blue Lightning_ related. It's a wild mix of everything, really, and it's wonderful.

I don't know why it happens then, it's not like I hadn't known before, but it dawns on me just _how_ incredibly talented Cal Price is. I'm not necessarily bad at drawing myself, but my ability is pretty limited to the sort of comic/manga style _Blue Lightning_ relies on. And then there's Cal who can whack out a freaking portrait of Abby Suso like it's nothing, mixed in with other random sketches as if he isn't one of the most talented people in this city.

"She annoyed the hell out of me that evening," he comments, pointing a greasy finger to the portrait, "I think it was the night I came back from Savannah and she just… you know, she kept talking and talking and talking."

I grin. That's Abby's thing. She's not really someone to wait for a story to be told; she is the storyteller.

"Anyway, I just put my earphones in and started drawing. She didn't even notice," Cal chuckles, " _Modern Vampires of the City_ is _Vampire Weekend_ 's best album and I will die on this hill if I have to."

"I like their newest one."

"Course you do," he says.

I don't tell him I only noticed they even had a new album out because Simon shared the song _My Mistake_ to his Instagram story. I don't tell him that. It doesn't matter.

"Child," a stern voice to my left demands, "Why are you not eating?"

I turn my head and there is Abby, her face looking distinctively less amused than it does in the portrait. She's carrying a shitload of books in her arms. Her backpack looks like it's about to burst at the seams and _another_ bag is slung across her shoulder.

"I love studying Psychology," she says with a smile but through gritted teeth when she notices my and Cal's stare, "It's so much fun! I love doing three assignments a week! It's fine!" She drops the books onto the table, almost knocking over Cal's bowl. When she speaks next, she puts on this over the top, totally horrible British accent, and it almost makes me laugh, "Anyway. Where's your food, young chap?"

"Not really hungry," I say, because it's the truth.

"Oh no, uh-uh. I'm not having that," she shakes her head and strips her body off her many bags before getting up again. I almost expect her to grab me by the earlobe, but she goes for my arm — thankfully. "Come on. We're getting food."

 

Turns out Abby agrees with Cal on _Vampire Weekend_ 's best album being their third. Of course she keeps on talking after that, going on about how her favorite song by them is definitely _Hannah Hunt_ but ultimately, she's more of a _Passion Pit_ kind of girl and I don't really see how that ties into this conversation but it makes me think of Simon even more because I know he loves this band.

After that, there is a long pause in which I stuff my face with Pad Thai and Cal starts sketching again, the stylus quickly working over the screen of the iPad. If he's drawing me with a face full of noodles I'm calling the quits.

"I meant what I said yesterday, by the way," Abby speaks into our silence, "About going out."

"We know you did," I say around a mouth full of noodles. Honestly, I'm feeling better already. Maybe eating something every once in a while does help with a broken heart. "And I meant when I said I don't want to."

She's throwing me a look. It's half a pout, half an expression that says _I'm seriously done with your shit, please stop_.

"What club were you thinking of?" Cal asks.

I make a somewhat choked noise at him, shaking my head a bit. The sound of betrayal. He hasn't stopped drawing, though, so he probably didn't notice. Or he's ignoring it.

He _is_ ignoring it.

I think I want to go back to self-pitying.

"Big Banana," Abby suggests.

Cal cringes. In fact, he cringes so hard he has to lower the iPad to give her the full effect.

"What?" Abby says.

"Have you actually been there?" Cal asks.

"Of course I haven't," Abby says and I think her cheeks are going a bit pink under her brown skin, "It's—"

"A gay club," Cal finishes, "Yes. And it's an absolute shithole. I mean _Big Banana_? For a gay club?"

"That can only be shit, indeed," I agree because _I'm_ not someone to stab my friend in the back.

"Fine," Abby says, "I just thought—"

"Why a gay club anyway?" I ask.

Abby throws me another one of her looks. Seriously? She's my best friend but I'm about to permanently strap sunglasses to her face so she can't electrocute me with her eyes only anymore.

"Can we _please_ choose a club where the middle-aged bouncer at the door doesn't slap my ass when I'm about to go in?" Cal whines.

Abby raises her eyebrows.

"Okay, maybe he wasn't middle-aged but twenty-seven and maybe I'd made out with him before," Cal shrugs, sinking down a bit in his seat, "Don't judge me."

"Okay," Abby says, dragging the word into unnecessary length, "No more Big Banana for Cal, apparently. So make a better suggestion."

Cal thinks for a moment. I know he isn't one to typically stay home on Saturday nights but I don't remember him going out so much that he has to think _this_ long about an answer. "The Wreck is a good one," he says finally, "Not exclusively a gay club, though. If we're going for that then I'd suggest Zippers. But, like, the music in there is shit."

"The Wreck it is, then," Abby decides, "Friday."

"Am I included in this plan?" I ask, "I hope I'm not included in this plan."

"Oh, you sure are," Abby says, "I'm going to show you that there are other fish in the sea besides Simon Spier."

"I thought you liked him," I say.

"I do," Abby shrugs, "But he hurt my best friend so I'm going to be petty."

I don't want to go out. I really don't. But seeing Abby make such an effort makes me feel warm nonetheless. I wrap and arm around her shoulders. Cal smiles at us.

I'm pretty sure I know where my comfort zone ends. And that's basically where I have to leave my house to do anything more than meet a couple of friends down at a karaoke bar. Sometimes, even that is hard. But I find myself wondering why this comfort zone even exists and why I have never challenged it.

Suddenly, there is this wild rush of adrenaline in my chest. For no reason at all. I don't want to go out. But I am feeling brave right now.


End file.
